


Confessional

by soundlolgic



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, TAKE ME TO CHURCH, a good old lemon, sex in place of worship, smut with feelings urgh, the devil works hard but Father Amicitia works harder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundlolgic/pseuds/soundlolgic
Summary: Gladio is on a solo mission. Ignis checks in on him.Supposedly.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Confessional

The confessional is small, cramped and creaks dully with their every single movement. The sounds are muted enough, rise and are quickly engulfed by the imposing silence of the grand church.

_ Too damn quiet _ , Ignis thinks, the static air outside making him that much more aware of each shift of the wood and the hammering in his chest as Gladio crouches lower and takes his cock in full, lips wrapped tight around the base. 

Ignis throws his head back. The thud is loud in his ears, he bites his lip hard to cut off a moan.

They didn't think this through. 

There was very little thinking involved, in fact, when Ignis stepped into the confessional to find the apparition gone, Gladio sitting cross-legged, prim and proper with the buttons all done up on his priest robe. The jacket hugs his frame like a second skin, enhancing instead of hiding away the curves and muscles Ignis is all too familiar with. When they finally made eye contact, the glint in Gladio’s eyes was pure electric. 

Now, now Ignis sits sagged and immobile on a tiny bench in a tiny wooden box, glasses set aside, trying with all of their old and new gods’ might to not scream out Gladio’s name as the bastard goes to town on his dick, smirking as he swirls his tongue around the head, lapping up precum then deepthroating Ignis with zero warning. It is neither the time nor the place, but fuck, does he miss this, the pressure of Gladio’s palms on his legs ((strong, steady)) and the wet heat of his mouth ((almost suffocating)). Gladio breathes deep through his nose and pulls back half way, the hollow of his cheeks obscene. He pulls Ignis forward by the hips and dives down again. The chain on Ignis’s belt scrapes along the bench, metal on metal on wood, the sound ought to snap him out of it. Instead it sends a jolt straight to his cock lodged snuggly in Gladio’s throat. Gladio glances at him through dark lashes - gods he must look like a mess. It's probably a trick of the light, but the amber of Gladio’s eyes seems to glow; it makes Ignis dizzy, drunk. He sags further back, the wood groans, but it sounds so far away as Gladio pulls back slowly, teeth dragging just so along skin and veins, and lets go with a pop. He licks his lips and wipes his thumb along the bottom, shiny with spit. Ignis whines low in his throat, cock twitching in the cold air. 

Gladio chuckles, “I know, Iggy. I'll take care of you.”

Ignis huffs, moving one hand to stroke his leaking penis. It's a different kind of warmth, his own hand. It'll do for now. 

He looks down pointedly between them. “And what about you,” looks back up at Gladio’s glowing eyes, “Father Amicita?”

It was the right timbre, low and breathy enough, and Ignis can't help a triumphant smile when Gladio stares back at him stricken, like Ignis has effectively shattered whatever restraint there might have been with two single words. 

Suddenly Gladio was on him, lips hovering inches from Ignis’s. Ignis gasps, and it sounds so small, helpless,  _ needy _ . Gladio closes the distance, not kissing him, just pulls lightly at Ignis’s lower lip with his teeth. He lets go, again. Ignis frowns, tries to anyway, attention soon caught by Gladio’s tongue moving across his upper lip. He didn’t shave, still scruffy as a pretend priest as when he was drifting from caravan to caravan with them. It hasn't been that long, Ignis remembers the drag and burn of Gladio’s beard on his skin. His cock twitches at the thought. Gladio is still too damn far away, hasn't even undressed despite being the one making all the advances.

Ignis reaches out. “Gladio...”

Gladio catches his wrist, nuzzles into the palm. He bites into one finger and pulls the leather glove off with his teeth, knocking the wind out of Ignis. Ignis sucks in a labored breath as the glove disappears underneath them, rakes fingernails into Gladio’s cheek, hopes it hurts as much as the ache between his legs.

Gladio’s voice is pitched low. “Turn around.”

The confessional is small and seems to constrict with every shaky breath he draws.

Ignis braces himself against the wall. His shirt is open, hanging off one shoulder. Gladio is flushed behind him, one arm snaked across his chest, holding him close as his other hand works Ignis open. Ignis breathes heavily, open-mouthed, inhales and exhales to the rhythmic push of Gladio’s slicked fingers. Later, he ought to have words with Gladio about carrying fucking lube on this mission. Later, maybe, unless Gladio will have fingerfucked his brains out first. He moans low and drawn as Gladio’s fingers hook in deep.  _ Too close _ . 

Gladio mouths along the juncture of his neck and shoulder, alternating between bites and wet licks. He sucks on a sweet spot and Ignis hisses. 

All too sudden, Gladio removes his fingers. Ignis’s cock, weeping and untouched, jumps as if in protest. Gladio’s own, now free, glorious, presses close to his ass.

Gladio whispers to his ears, hot breath ghosting his skin, “Ready?” 

Ignis shivers.

Gladio moves in slowly, one hand steady on Ignis’s hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Ignis clenches and unclenches his fists as the initial friction gradually melts into a familiar burn, to the pleasant fullness of Gladio wholly filling him. His nerves feel raw, synapses firing in overdrive. 

Gladio sags slightly, “Fuck. You're tight... Still OK?”

Ignis nods once, not trusting his own voice. 

Gladio pulls back and thrusts shallowly, experimentally. Ignis gasps, clawing at the wood, body starting to remember, adjusting, aching to be owned. Gladio thrusts again, a little deeper, a little faster.  _ Not nearly enough. _

Ignis props one leg on the bench and pushes back. Before Gladio can pull away he reaches back to keep their hips in place, the new angle making his knees weak. He bares his neck. “Stop playing nice.”

The words are gritted out, his voice shakes. From the close press of their bodies, back to front, he can feel Gladio shudder. Gladio’s fingers tighten around his hips and shoulder, anchoring him in place. And then, _ and then _ , without a word, he drives in.

The pace turns utterly unrelenting, something Ignis’s body is used to, craves, but his mind’s struggling to keep up, oscillating between Gladio’s ragged, uneven breathing, and the mewling moans escaping his own lips. He feels his throat constrict; the confessional is small, the air inside thick with sex; the constant, wet slaps of their connecting bodies a buzz in his ears. Ignis leans heavily forward on one arm, forcing himself to breathe as his dick pulses in Gladio’s hand and pleasant heat rapidly gathers low in his stomach. Gladio’s strokes are firm, turning increasingly sporadic with each snap of his hips, driving himself harder and deeper inside Ignis, hitting his sweet spot again and again. 

White spots start to gather at his peripheral. Ignis scrambles, putting his hand on Gladio’s wrapped around his cock. Gladio rumbles, baritone voice like velvet in his ears, blunt nails digging into his hips. 

Pushing away from the wood wall, Ignis lets himself fall flushed into Gladio’s heaving chest; the latter’s pace remains uninterrupted.  _ Too fast, too full _ . Ignis hooks an arm under Gladio’s chin, hand reaching up to tangle into damp hair. He pulls their faces close, breaths mingling.

A breathless whisper, “Come, Gladiolus.”

His next breath is caught between his lips, swallowed by Gladio’s open mouthed kiss. A sharp snap. Sweet release. 

Gladio holds him close, steady, lets them both ride out their orgasms in full body shudders. Ignis is suddenly back inside his body, limbs heavy. He feels himself being lowered onto the bench. Gladio has somehow gathered his gloves and glasses and placed them neatly next to him. Then he disappears briefly, and Ignis should have been worried being left alone and so thoroughly fucked inside a place of worship, except he is thoroughly well fucked, and reason is such a large concept that currently has no place within this small, cramped confessional. 

Gladio eventually reemerges. His robes are done up properly once more, he has brought water and wipes. Ignis frowns, only slightly, Gladio seems awfully prepared for something so spontaneous. But he lets it go because Gladio is too close again, gently cleaning him and fixing his attire.

They are decent before long. Gladio holds open the door of the confessional for him. Ignis hesitates. Outside, the church is still, the air smells faintly of old wood. Outside, they will be back to their separate missions. 

Ignis turns when he feels a hand on his lower back. Gladio is looking at him closely, a hint of worry in his amber eyes, “You alright?” 

Ignis sighs, places one hand on Gladio’s shoulder, he pulls up for one more kiss. A lingering soft press of lips. 

Gladio is smiling when they pull apart. That slight upturn at the corner of his lips that assures and assuages Ignis. It’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter also as @soundlolgic 
> 
> These 1500 something words are two years in the making I am desperate for attention 8D


End file.
